


Murano

by relucant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Italy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, glassblowing, i swear i will write more this time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 20:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10256813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relucant/pseuds/relucant
Summary: “C’mon, Dean,” Charlie wheedled. “It’s one afternoon!”“Fuck off, Charlie,” Dean said pleasantly, sitting back and pointedly ignoring her pleading eyes.“Dean –““Nope.”Dean could almost hear her switch tactics, and he braced himself for the onslaught.“And how many times have I helped get you laid?” she said pointedly.“Excuse me?” Dean said, finally looking up. “Are we forgetting the time I got Dorothy to be your consort in Moondoor?”`





	

**Author's Note:**

> Writing is a nightmare

“C’mon, Dean,” Charlie wheedled. “It’s one afternoon!”

“Fuck off, Charlie,” Dean said pleasantly, sitting back and pointedly ignoring her pleading eyes.

“Dean –“

“Nope.”

Dean could almost hear her switch tactics, and he braced himself for the onslaught.

“And how many times have I helped get you laid?” she said pointedly.

“Excuse me?” Dean said, finally looking up. “Are we forgetting the time I got Dorothy to be your consort in Moondoor?”

“Okay, and I gave your name to Lisa for her car.”

“Bela.”

“She was nuts, doesn’t count. Aaron.”

“Jo.”

“That off-duty cop who looked like Chris Evans.”

“I –” Dean shut his mouth. “Okay, we’re even. Still not going to a fuckin’ glass-blowing workshop, Charles. Why can’t you ask Sam and Jess or something?”

“Because then I’d be a third wheel, and being pathetic is not gonna get me Gilda’s number.” She sighed, running a hand through her vivid hair. “Look, I know you’re super not into it, but it could be fun!” Dean gave her a look. “And,” she continued hastily, “I’ll pay for your class, and buy you dinner and beer. And I’ll owe you, which you know will come in handy. Please?”

Dean rubbed his eyes, seriously considering turning up some Zeppelin and tuning her out, but he could feel her Sam-level puppydog eyes on him, and he relented. 

“Fine. One time. Then you’re on your own there, Sappho.”

Charlie threw her arms around him, stretching onto her tiptoes to drop a loud, smacking kiss to his temple. “Have I ever told you you’re the best handmaiden?”

“Oh my God,” Dean grumbled, shoving her off and rubbing at his face, but she was already turning to her ever-present laptop, typing away with a considering look on her face.

“There’s a class on marbles,” she said doubtfully. “That could be…”

“Incredibly lame?” Dean supplied.

“Kind of,” Charlie conceded. “Ooh, oil lamps! Shit, no, Gilda doesn’t even teach that one. Strike-out.” Dean just shook his head, tuning her out as he flopped on the couch and flipped through the channels.

“Ooh, Beginner’s Guide to Flameworking,” she mused. “C’mon, that sounds kind of badass.”

“What is it?” Dean asked, curious despite himself.

“No idea! But…” Her fingers danced over the keys for a moment. “It is,” she announced dramatically, “…a type of glasswork where a torch or lamp is primarily used to mold the glass.” 

“Thanks, Wikipedia.” He turned back to the TV.

“No, this sounds cool, actually,” Charlie said as she scanned the article. “From the fifth century BC – oh wow, it’s still practiced on an island in Venice.”

“You can take Gilda there on your honeymoon,” Dean informed her, then paused. “So, like… what can you make?”

“Uh… well, marbles, for one,” she admitted. “But also beads and ornaments!”

“You really know how to sell an idea, Charlie.”

She ignored him. “Huh. Guess it can be used to make scientific instruments, that’s kind of neat. And models, and just… art.”

“Oh good,” Dean sighed. “Don’t think my hands are capable of working on anything more artistic than a carburetor.”

Charlie finally looked up at him. “So you don’t think Baby’s a work of art?”

“I – well, yeah, of course she is, but –”

“I rest my case,” Charlie said airily, turning back to her laptop, and Dean let his head fall back to the couch with a thunk.

So a week and a half later, Dean found himself wedged next to Charlie on a bench, watching Gilda shape and mold molten glass into a figurine over an open flame. He rolled his eyes at Charlie’s lovestruck admiration, but he had to admit it was cool, as she produced a delicate image of a horse after barely twenty minutes.

“God, can you blame me?” Charlie whispered, leaning into his shoulder.

Dean snorted, but before he could answer, the instructor in question stopped by their table.

“We’ll be starting with basics,” she said, in a low, melodious voice. “I usually teach individually, but if you and your boyfriend would like to stay together…”

“No!” Charlie squeaked, just as Dean made a gagging sound.

Gilda arched a curious eyebrow, and Charlie glared at him.

“He’s like my brother,” she said. “Huge asshole, but he’s keeping me company.”

Dean let out a loud, obnoxious cough, ignoring the scowl, and smiled up at Gilda. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool! Charlie’s always been pretty good with her hands.”

“Oh my God,” Charlie said, sinking her head to the desk.

Gilda just laughed. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ll speak to you both soon, once you’ve played around a bit.” She threw a brief look back at Charlie, and Dean forever catalogued the blush on Charlie’s face.

“Oh my God,” Charlie hissed, ignoring the lecture. “Oh my –”

“Charles,” Dean said, again. “Pay attention, you nerdlet. Impress her.”

Eventually Gilda came back around, examining the misshapen lump of red-gold Charlie had produced. She held it up to the sun, tilting it onto Charlie’s face. 

“I like it,” she said. “It needs work, but… I could help you.”

“Please,” Charlie managed.

Gilda turned and tilted her head towards Dean’s little marble. “You’ve done this before?”

“What?” Dean said, surprised. “No, uh – no, dude.”

“It’s well-made. If you’d like to continue,” she paused, “both of you, I’d like that.”

“Maybe,” Dean said. 

Dean found himself spinning his marble in his hand, twisting between calloused fingertips.

“You really never did this before?” Charlie asked, as she prodded at her lump, eyeing Dean’s near-perfect sphere enviously.

“Every weekend,” Dean said dryly. Charlie kicked him under the table.

“Hi,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his ankle. “Best friend. Wingman. Fuckin’ don’ kick me.”

To her credit, Charlie blushed. “I’m nervous,” she admitted. “Kinda ramps up the whole social anxiety shit.”

Dean relented, rubbing his shin with one hand and ruffling her hair with the other. “Yeah, yeah. Dude, she was like eye-fucking you from across the workstation.”

“Don’t be gross,” she informed him, then paused. “Was she?”

“She’s you,” Dean said, standing up and twirling his marble between his fingers, “and you’re Scarlett Johansson.”

“Dean!” Charlie yelped, as he turned to saunter away. “You can’t –!”

“Bye, Gilda!” he called as she sat in Dean’s vacated chair.

Several hours later, the front door banged open, and Charlie stumbled in. Dean sat up, Firefly still playing on the TV.

“No luck?”

Charlie tried for an unhappy groan, but glee lingered in the corners of her lips. “Uh, didn’t get laid, no. But… might have a date tomorrow.”

Dean tossed a pillow at her head, grinning. “You owe me, Charlemagne.”

“I do,” she acknowledged. “But, dude, you’re good at it. Like, way better than me.” She shifted awkwardly back on her heels. “Maybe, want to, you know, go again?”

Dean pushed his hand into his pocket, running his hand over the smooth glass curves. “Maybe,” he said indifferently.

“You’re the best,” Charlie said, throwing her arms around him.

“Yeah, okay. Dibs on best man?”

“Duh.”

Dean wandered back inside, restless and toying with his marble. Finally he sighed, setting it down on his desk, and turned to Google.

 _How to blow glass_ , he typed, and scrolled past the endless useless step-by-steps and vague tutorials. He had his hand on his laptop to close it down when he caught sight of a guy with serious blue eyes, narrating his creation of a tiny angel figurine.

“Huh,” Dean said aloud, squinting at the screen, and he bookmarked the guy’s channel right there.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](a%20href=) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/relucanting)
> 
> I'm nice.


End file.
